Sharing is caring
by Small Bombs
Summary: Boys, they wanna have fun. PWP, Vamp/Raiden/Sam, College AU.


He can't really tell who, what, where—he just kisses whatever piece of naked skin he can find, mind numb by seven shots of vodka and two sets of hands running over his body, scraping, pulling, caressing, _distracting_—They don't want him to think, they want him to act, to feel. He can hear his own jagged breathing, the quiet creaking of the bed and whispers forcing themselves into his ears, whispers that make his thighs tremble and his cock throb. He tastes alcohol in their tongues and wonders if he tastes the same; he tastes blood, thick and warm on lips he insists on biting whenever he can. It's only through his nose that he can tell who is who in the mix of limbs and tongues and sex, Sam's musk coming from the front and Vamp's scent from somewhere near the back of his neck.

His body is trapped between torso and torso and it belongs entirely to them; whenever he tries to move by himself, hands keep him steady and in the position _they_ want, doing what _they_ want, guiding his hands to their aching shafts, spreading his legs apart for better access. Raiden moans orders to make himself believe he still has any semblance of control, and he's too loud and too vulgar, yet although he's conscious enough to know, he's not enough to care, so he continues, mewling with twisted pleasure when Vamp buries his teeth on his shoulder and licks the wound, then cursing under his breath when his cock teases his entrance but doesn't go any further.

"Fuck me, fuck me..."

He shakes his ass, tantalizing, no trace of shame in his mind. It's probably why the bastards were so eager to go drink their heads off with him today, why they handed him glass after glass: Sam knows he has no inhibitions when he's drunk, that the façade he keeps up to hide his true self crumbles to reveal another side of his that he keeps well-hidden and chained up for good measure.

"Sam—"

Suddenly panicking when Vamp's hardness pushes against his entrance, he says his name and it makes one large hand take his instantaneously. Sam tangles his fingers with his, fitting perfectly as always and encouraging nothings are whispered into his ear by that sultry, rumbling voice that turns his legs to jelly, soothing him, velvety tones assuring it'll be alright.

His heartbeat slows down.

He knows Sam. He can trust Sam. Sam means safety, so when he feels Vamp's cock thrust into him, different, foreign, he clings to him for dear life, a mix of fear and excitement taking over his chest. His size, his shape, they're not what he's used to, but when he pulls out, his walls tighten around him all the same, refusing to let go and holding him back just like they do with the Brazilian every other night.

He locks blue eyes with brown, groaning when Vamp thrusts in again, and Sam's cock throbs in his hand. Bastard's enjoying it, watching him get fucked by someone else, watching his reactions, his expressions, as if he were watching a cheap porn flick back at home. This is better than any movie, though, and he reminds him by squeezing his shaft and licking his lips suggestively, then opening his mouth, feverish like the rest of his body. Understanding his meaning, Sam raises his eyebrows and grins, then opens his legs wider.

Pleased laughter comes from behind him when he leans down and takes Sam in his mouth in one swift, practiced maneuver, and he's filled to the brim—His world is nothing but heat and gentle pulse. After a moment of adjustment, they both start moving at the same time, fucking him raw, their rhythms uneven but equally fast and relentless—Sam takes a hold of his head to keep him steady as he pushes his length deep into his throat and pulls back just before he can choke; meanwhile, Vamp grabs his hips and seems determined to tear him into two, burying his cock into his ass until his legs slap against his thighs, occasionally rubbing against that spot that makes the blonde's eyes roll to the back of his skull and his entire body quake with delight. Raiden's hands cling to the sheets for dear life as he is plowed from both sides, bed creaking wildly under their weights yet barely louder than their own voices, unabashed and coarse. They pant, they groan, and the sounds harmonize oddly with the wet, slurping sounds coming from the blonde's mouth and the sound of flesh slapping against flesh behind him.

His own erection is neglected during the whole ordeal, and when he comes, he does sorely because of their onslaught, his moans vibrating across Sam's cock and sending him over the edge as well. Vamp resists the spasming of Jack's walls with a smug grin and comes last, pushing his throbbing length as deep as he can, Raiden's whine of relief muffled by Sam's shoulder as he holds him, running his hands through his hair with unusual gentleness—A prize for his efforts. And as he dozes off in his arms, body still warm with afterglow, he figures there's no way he'll regret this in the morning.

He _absolutely_ regrets it in the morning.


End file.
